The Very Best Time Of The Year
by Eloise
Summary: Wesley gets a Christmas story, complete with pressies and candy and a happy ending. Or not... Set Season 3 (post 'Fredless', pre 'Billy') Chap 5 added. STORY COMPLETE
1. Catch a Star and Fly Away

TITLE:  The Very Best Time of the Year

AUTHOR:  Eloise 

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.

NOTES: It occurs to me that I have been rather mean to Wes recently. I've had him smothered to death (and resuscitated) in 'Present Imperfect'; I've had him tortured in 'Soul Cages', and I've had him locked under the stairs in 'The Caged Birds Sing'. And my name isn't even Joss Whedon!

So I decided to write him a Christmas story, with pressies and candy and a happy ending. Or not. Story is set Season 3, after 'Fredless', but before 'Billy'. Big hugs and thanks to Lonely Brit for the wonderful beta – go read her wonderful fics at Wesleyfanfiction.net!

Title of the fic and chapter titles come from the John Rutter carol – 'The Very Best Time of the Year'.

Chapter 1: Catch a Star and Fly Away

'Feels like you could reach and touch the sky'

Or catch a star and fly away;

Feels like you could wish for peace on earth,

And all at once it would come some day.'

'Bugger'

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce whispered the swear word under his breath, as he attempted to navigate a course through the throng of Christmas shoppers, all seemingly hell-bent on getting their purchases to the checkout before him.

Soulless vampires, zombie corpses, demon gore splatter, he could handle. But face him with the prospect of buying presents for his co-workers, and he was reduced to a bumbling nervous wreck.

'Ow!' He heard his own voice rise to an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak, then reached down to rub his grated ankle.

'Sorry, hon, didn't see you there.'

A cherub-cheeked blonde woman smiled at him insincerely, then overtook him, as he hopped a little on one foot, trying to save the other from further damage. He made a mental note to avoid all new mothers, and their weapon of choice – baby buggies.

He should have done this weeks ago, or followed Angel's example and ordered on-line. But he had never liked this particular season, and had steadfastly ignored its onset, until he realized that there were only four days left until Christmas. And he did not dare show up at the office without gifts.

Angel and Gunn, he knew they couldn't care less about presents. But Cordy had actually gone to the trouble of issuing them all with a list of her preferred gift choices, neatly catalogued and cross-referenced by price and place of purchase. If only she put some of that military precision and intricate planning into the organization of the office, their filing system wouldn't be the idiosyncratic mystery it so depressingly was.

He had managed to give Fred her present before she had left to visit her parents. A facsimile of Einstein's 1912 Manuscript on the Special Theory of Relativity which he had tracked down at his favourite bookshop, hidden among all the dusty ancient commentaries and prophesies. She had squealed with delight and had given him a brief awkward hug, which he had returned just as clumsily, his chin bumping against the top of her head.

He sighed heavily, and hefted his soon-to-be purchases towards the checkout, where a mother (sans pram, thank God) was attempting to juggle two Barbies, a Nintendo, a skateboard and an over-tired toddler. Beside her, a boy of around seven was kicking his obviously expensive branded trainers against the counter.

'Mom! I want Grand Theft Auto!'

'Scott, sweetie, you're too young.' She shifted the now screaming toddler onto her hip, and dumped her purchases onto the counter, shushing the little girl gently.

'But Jack's getting it!'

The whine in his voice was clearly familiar to her, and Wesley found himself feeling incredibly sorry for the harassed woman. If he had behaved like that when he was a child… No. He made a conscious effort to not think about that. Not now. Not at this particular time of the year.

*~*~*~*

'Tis the season to be jolly, fa la bloody la, la, la, la, la.'

He stamped his feet on the wet pavement and pulled the pac-a-mac raincoat around him tightly. A fine mist hung in the night air; he had been working for eight hours straight, and the rain had drizzled unceasingly all day, seeping through his clothes and chilling him to the bone.

It wasn't fair. Every year he got stuck with the same assignment. Never Australia, where you ate Christmas dinner on the beach and came home with a tan. He wouldn't even have minded Germany or Switzerland. At least there you got proper snow, the prospect of some skiing and a couple of mugs of mulled wine. No, he got landed with Britain, and all he had to show for his efforts was a thumping headache, a stinking cold, and if he was lucky, a newspaper full of soggy chips. 

An Austin 1100 drove by too quickly, its tyre slicing into the muddy puddle at the edge of the kerb, sending a deluge of oily water over his already saturated clothing.

'Merry bloody Christmas to you too, mate!'  He shouted, waving an invisible fist impotently at the retreating rear lights of the vehicle. He sighed heavily, and moved back into the shadow of a large oak tree. He pulled the enchanted raincoat over his head, and folded it in on itself, zipping it into a little pouch and clipping it to his belt. Then turned his attention to his now visible wings. 

They were in a sorry state. Damp and bedraggled, they hung limply from his back; a variety of broken twigs and wet leaves entangled in the translucent gossamer. He reached his hand behind his back and began to remove the debris

Still, at least he only had one more house to do. After that he could head home to enjoy a hot bath, and an even hotter toddy. Maybe he could persuade the boss to crack open that twenty five year old Glenfiddich he'd been saving for a special occasion. After all, it wasn't every year you finished your Naughty/Nice list three days early.

And it wasn't as if that had been a particularly pleasant assignment.  The naughty list was getting longer each year. Kids these days didn't know they were born. They spent the whole year whining and fighting and generally behaving like a bunch of spoiled brats; then come Christmas morning they expected to find a stockingful of presents. 

That was another thing. Since when did stocking mean **pillowcase**, or even worse, **sack**? He was sick and tired of the whole thing. If he had his way, he'd give them a taste of the old days. A couple of lumps of coal in the bottom of an otherwise empty stocking would soon teach them to curb their avaricious ways. The boss had vetoed that suggestion pretty quickly.

'We've got to move with the times, Norman. We can't afford a PR disaster like that.'

It was all right for him. He only had to go out once a year, and even then he had proper transport. Plus he didn't have to listen to all that whingeing and moaning. He just left the goods, drank the milk and cookies, and then pissed off back up the chimney. Ho bloody ho.

Norman removed the last slimy leaf from between his wings, straightened up and gave them an experimental flutter. He rose several feet into the air and hovered there, until a sudden desperate tickle in his nose became a violent sneeze, which catapulted him backwards into the upper branches of the oak tree. He realized, with a growing sense of resignation, that tonight was not going to be his night.

He was beginning to disentangle his wings from the branch on which they had become snagged, when he realized that his current vantage point gave him a perfect view of the final house on his list.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook, turning to a page near the end.

NAME: Wyndam-Pryce, Wesley James

AGE: Seven years and nine months

CURRENT LIST STATUS: Nice

Hmm. Not that that meant anything. Last year, Dave had been assigned to Hampshire, and had put most of the brats on the Nice list. He didn't know why, it wasn't as if they got a Christmas bonus for it, or anything. He had been sent to Birmingham, God help him. It was bad enough having to listen to Slade's 'Merry Christmas, Everyone' playing incessantly, without having to actually visit the city that had spawned them.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Even the name reeked of obnoxious upper class arrogance. The kid probably had the best of everything, and was used to having his every whim indulged. Well, he would see about that. He edged along the branch to get a better view of the child in question.

The little kid that he saw through the bedroom window looked anything but spoiled. He was sitting at a wooden desk, his chin cupped in one hand, studying a rather large book. The pages seemed to be crammed with text, and every now and again he would scribble frantically in a notebook that lay open on the desk next to him.

What struck him most about this room was the lack of toys. Every room he had visited on his route so far had been stuffed to bursting point with toys. This reminded him more of a schoolroom than a child's bedroom. There were rows of shelves on the walls, laden with various scholarly volumes, rather than the more typical children's storybooks. A few treasured items were scattered amongst the books; some tin soldiers carefully placed next to a wooden fort; a worn, but obviously well hugged teddy bear half hidden behind a leather-bound tome.

The child in question was small for his seven years; when seated at the desk, his toes barely touched the floor. He was clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, and currently his face was screwed up in concentration, the tip of his tongue protruding from his lips. The light from the table lamp was reflected in gold-framed spectacles, which completely failed to hide huge blue eyes.

No, he was pretty sure this was one unspoiled kid. Norman took out his pen and put a tick beside Wesley's name in the Nice column. He closed the notebook and was about to leave when the bedroom door opened. The effect on the little boy was amazing. His head came up smartly, his shoulders and back suddenly stiff, rigid with tension.

The man who had entered the room was the kid's dad; of that there was no doubt. The genetic inheritance obvious in the same dark hair, the startling blue eyes. However, where the child was slight of frame, the man stood at least six feet tall, well built and athletic. He was clearly not happy, as evidenced by the frown that creased his face. This did not bode well for Wesley. 

Norman wondered briefly what this quiet little kid could have done to incur such apparent displeasure. He sincerely hoped he was not going to have to put Wesley's name in the Naughty column. The man held out his hand to the child, and Wesley surrendered the notebook, his hand trembling visibly. The contents of the notebook only served to further infuriate the man, and he gestured to the door of the bedroom. The little kid slipped down from the chair and crept out of the room, clearly terrified. 

He frowned in consternation. Despite his oft-professed impatience with the youth of today, Norman did not like to see a kid in trouble. He still wielded the power of the wish, even if he had not exercised it for several centuries, and he was sorely tempted to intervene.

What he was considering was extremely rash. It was absolutely, expressly forbidden to meddle in mortal affairs. The boss was adamant about that. It was the reason for the big split between him and D'Hoffryn. Nick had insisted that the power of the wish was far too dangerous to be subject to the whims of mortals. D'Hoffryn had disagreed. Most of his kind had sided with the boss, leaving D'Hoffryn to recruit his vengeance demons from scorned, hurt mortals. And that hadn't really worked out so well. 

The boss had set up his own operation, vowing to observe, rather than interfere. He wielded the power of the wish on one night a year only, and even then it was a symbolic gesture, rather than an actual answer to a specific wish. 

Norman knew if he did this there would be hell to pay; he only hoped that his metaphorical interpretation of the boss's warning was correct. He would probably get sent to the Outer Hebrides, maybe Siberia, next year. Or even worse, Birmingham again. Then he remembered the look of terror in those huge blue eyes, and decided that maybe Birmingham wasn't such a bad place, after all.

He unzipped his raincoat and pulled it over his head, rendering himself invisible once again. Then slipped off the end of the branch and climbed onto the windowsill of the bedroom. Lifted up the sash window and crept noiselessly into the room. 

The first thing he noticed about this particular house was the extreme quiet. He had got used to the bustle and noise of mortal preparations for Christmas; a soundtrack of cheesy seasonal songs and traditional carols, underscored by the sound of laughter and petty squabbling. As he made his way down the wide staircase, the only sound he heard was the tick of the grandfather clock.

A door opposite the foot of the stairs opened, and Norman pressed himself back against the oak panelled walls, momentarily forgetting his invisibility. The boy's father emerged from the room, his hand closed firmly around his son's arm. The child's glasses were now missing, and it was clear that Wesley had been crying. The man led him down the hall and stopped at a door set into the staircase. He reached into his pocket and removed a key, which he used to unlock the door. Norman stifled a sigh. This could not be good.

The little boy was having a hard time controlling his terror. His legs trembled visibly, and Norman could almost hear his heart hammering in his chest. He obeyed his father, though, stepped into the darkness of the cupboard. The man locked the door, and returned to his study, leaving the key in the lock.

He crept downstairs silently, tiptoed along the hallway until he came to the door. Reached out his hand and turned the key very slowly. He felt the mechanism give way, and eased the cupboard door open a fraction, just enough to slip inside.

The boy made a tiny noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and scooted back against the wall of the cupboard.

'You're not real,' he whispered desperately.

He wasn't talking to him, of course. The kid had no idea he was in there; he was addressing the anonymous terrors that dwelt in his imagination. Norman slipped the raincoat off carefully and smiled at the child in what he hoped was a non-threatening way. 

'Hey there, Wesley.'

Again there was a muffled squeak, and Norman pressed his finger to his own lips, shushing the little boy gently.

'It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you. See?' He spread out his arms, palms up, demonstrating his lack of threat. He was rather amused to note that the little boy's natural curiosity was overcoming his initial dread.  He was staring at his wings.

'Are you a fairy?'

He bit back a sarcastic retort, reminding himself that the boy was asking an innocent question. Besides, if their union got wind of what he was doing, he'd get hauled over to head office to face a disciplinary committee of exceedingly pissed off fairies.

'Not exactly. I suppose you would call me an elf.'

'And you can really fly?' he sounded breathless with excitement.

'That's what the wings are there for, kid.'

And you can make yourself invisible?'

The kid didn't miss a trick.

'One of the perks of the job.' He winked conspiratorially at the child. 'Can you imagine the fuss if you mortals found out we actually existed?'

He was pleased to note that the little boy was almost smiling. Then Wesley hesitated, and rubbed the bridge of his nose nervously. 

'Um, how come you're here? Is it something to do with the Winter solstice?'

'Nah. Nothing as exciting as that.  I'm on what you might call a fact finding mission. You were on my list.'

Immediately the child's face creased with worry. 

'Am I in trouble?'

'Oh, no, no way, kid. In fact, you're top of my nice list this year. Thought I'd do something extra special for you.' He paused, and gave him an encouraging smile. 'If you don't mind me asking, how come your Dad locked you in here?'

The eyes dropped, and Wesley began to pick at a non-existent piece of fluff on his pyjama trousers.

'I – I was lazy. I didn't do my translation properly.' He raised his eyes reluctantly, obviously hoping that this was enough information.

Norman swallowed down the hot surge of justified anger at the child's treatment. That was it. This child was going to get a wish, consequences be damned. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and brought out a small sprig of holly. 

'Take it.' He held the twig out to the boy, and Wesley took it carefully, balancing it his open palm.

'Make a wish. For something good. I promise it will be granted.'

The little boy eyed him doubtfully, and Norman smiled reassuringly. 'Don't worry. Just wish. Everything will be fine.'

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce closed his eyes tightly, and wished.

*~*~*~*

Wesley took a sip of the sixteen-year-old Lagavulin, and savoured the antiseptic sea tang of the Islay. It was more astringent than the delicate Highland malts, and he inhaled over the mouthful, enjoying the smoky aftertaste.

He could feel the weariness in his joints, and he gave the muscles in his upper arms a brisk rub. Then eyed the purchases he had made, now set out before him on the low coffee table. Gunn had been quite simple to buy for; he had lamented quite frequently the lack of decent films to play on his recently acquired DVD player. He had bought 'Malcolm X' for culture, and 'Blade' for a laugh, knowing Gunn would appreciate the joke - a 'good' vampire played by a guy called Wesley.

For Cordy, he had gone with a selection of exorbitantly expensive cosmetics straight off her list. He had learned early on that the person who knew best what Cordelia needed was Cordy herself. For an actress, she was surprisingly poor at hiding her disappointment when she received a gift of which she did not approve. Then again, tact and diplomacy were never words that sprang to mind when considering her character.

Angel had been more of a problem. He always seemed to end up buying the vampire books. Perhaps because he had been conditioned as a child to view books as an appropriate gift choice. He had finally bought him an early edition of Joyce's 'The Dubliners', partly in response to Angel's literary tastes, but also as a quiet in-joke on the whole epiphany thing.

He took another drink from the tumbler and set it down on the table beside the packages. Then stood up and went to the hall cupboard to fetch wrapping paper and sticky tape. He stood on tiptoe, reaching up to the high shelf, feeling blindly for the correct box. He lifted down a long white shoebox, and took off the lid. It wasn't the right one, but the contents of this box made him catch his breath.

Nestled within the dark tissue paper were a number of childhood treasures.  A small set of beautifully painted tin soldiers, a dog-eared copy of 'Biggles' which he had managed to keep hidden from his father, and one of his favourite toys, a Commando Action Man, dressed all in black, complete with a tiny perfect crossbow. He wasn't exactly sure when he had been given it, vaguely remembered being stunned to receive such a frivolous gift. Reaching into the box again, his hand closed over something prickly, and he gasped, withdrew it quickly. At the bottom of the box lay a tiny holly sprig, amazingly still shiny and green. He picked it up gingerly, and wondered where the hell it had come from. 

He set the box on the floor beside him, and turned the twig over in his hand. One of the sharp points of the leaf pressed into his thumb, and he dropped it immediately, raising his thumb to his mouth automatically. He barely had time to acknowledge the taste of iron before he swayed, then crumpled to the floor very quietly.


	2. Families and Friends Together

TITLE:  The Very Best Time of the Year

AUTHOR:  Eloise 

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.

NOTES: Chap 2 of 4 (I hope!) Okay, I am not a monster. I know I tortured him in Soul Cages, but seriously, did you really think I would kill off Wes, especially in a CHRISTMAS fic?! I'm not that heartless! Once again, big hugs to Lonely Brit for her Beta brilliance!

Chapter title and quote from John Rutter's carol 'The Very Best Time of the Year'

Chapter 2: Families and Friends Together

'Families and friends together

Feel a special kind of love and cheer,

Sharing all the joys of Christmas time,

The very best time of year.'

'Come on. English. Open up.'

Gunn knocked on the door a little harder this time. No response. He looked over at Angel.

'You think maybe he's not answering for a reason?'

He wondered if Gunn knew how stupid that sounded. Of course there was a reason for Wes not answering. That's what they were there to find out.

Off his rather sardonic look, Gunn continued. 

'I mean, a *particular* reason. You know, maybe he met someone last night and brought her home…' he paused, briefly, then continued. 'He's not going to be very happy if we go charging in while they're in the middle of…' he tailed off again.

'It doesn't seem very likely. Let's face it, when was the last time any of us met someone who wasn't a demon? Or at the very least, about to be sacrificed to one.'

Gunn nodded resignedly. 'Guess you're right. Can't see English falling into bed with someone he just met.

'You think we should… you know.' 

Angel motioned with his shoulder. Gunn shrugged a little. 

The vampire took a step back and threw his weight against the solid door. The only thing which gave way was his shoulder. He swore softly and threw the other man a reproachful look.

'You could help.'

An odd little smile played around Gunn's lips.

'Mm. Or I could use the spare key that Cordy gave me.' 

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the key, rather smugly, earning him a reasonably hard punch to his shoulder. Angel scowled and swiped the key from him, jabbing it savagely into the lock. He heard the mechanism of the deadlock unbolt, and pushed the apartment door open. 

The place looked the way it always did – neat. Wes was freakishly tidy, he thought. Almost obsessively so. He was willing to bet good money that the contents of his bookcase were catalogued and alphabetized. Hell, knowing Wes, he probably had them organized by ISB number as well.

The blinds were drawn, and with relief he stepped into the room. The only light in the room came from a small Tiffany reading lamp, poised on the edge of a disturbingly tidy desk. The little kitchenette was also spotless, the sink devoid of washing up.

The meticulous arrangement of the rest of the room only served to emphasis the disorder that was the coffee table. Books and DVDs were spilled across the surface, along with a gift package of cosmetics and a half-empty whisky tumbler. The empty bags on the floor beside the table confirmed that Wes had been Christmas shopping. He moved closer, surreptitiously trying to discover which gift was intended for him.

'His bed's not been slept in.'

Gunn came back into the living area, and Angel stepped back guiltily, almost tripping over the end of the table.

'He must have gone Christmas shopping last night.' He waved his hand towards the table, trying to adopt an air of unconcern, and failing miserably.

'Anything good?' Gunn leaned over, and began to rifle through the purchases without shame. A broad smile appeared when he discovered the DVDs. 'I knew if I dropped enough hints…'

'Gunn!'

'What? If he didn't want us to see them, he shouldn't have left them lying around.'

He had stopped listening. He had heard something, only the faintest sound, a whisper of breath that even his vampire hearing could only just detect. He put his finger to his lips and motioned for Gunn to follow him.

The almost sound seemed to have come from the closet near the apartment door. They stopped outside it, and Angel tested the handle. Opened it slowly. The amber glow of the reading lamp barely penetrated the darkness of the cupboard. He reached into the cupboard and clicked on the light.

A tiny gasp, this time audible to Gunn too.

'Not real. You're not real.' A soft voice whispered slightly frantically.

He stepped into the closet and brushed through the coats and jackets that hung at the back. This time the gasp came from himself and Gunn.

A small dark-haired boy, no more than six or seven years old, was huddled in the corner to the closet, his knees drawn up to his chest in an effort to make himself even smaller. He looked up at Angel, and the vampire was frankly shocked by the piercing blueness of those fear filled eyes.

He took a step back, not wanting to terrify the child any further.

'Hey, there,' he began very tentatively, then added rather lamely 'Um, what're you doing in here?'

The kid scooted further back against the wall of the closet, eyeing them with barely concealed terror.

'I-I have to stay here. I'm s-supposed to wait till he comes for me.'

The English accent was unmistakeable, reminded him intensely of Wesley, except for the slightly lisped sibilants. He was suddenly aware of Gunn beside him, kneeling on the closet floor.

'Who's coming for you, kid?' 

The child's startling blue eyes grew impossibly huge and round as he observed them.

'My father, sir.'

He took a step back, his mind spinning with questions he really didn't want to know the answers to.

'What's your dad's name?' Gunn again, talking in a soft voice, as if he was soothing a spooked horse.

'Roger Wyndham-Pryce.' 

Gunn turned and looked at him, his dark eyes puzzled. 

'Wes got a brother?'

He shook his head. 'I don't think so… I mean, he's never mentioned one.' 

He realized then how little Wes spoke about his family. He moved closer to the child and held out his hand to the little boy, who cowered in the corner.

'You can come out, it's okay. I'm sure your Dad won't mind if you come out now.' 

The child was obviously torn by his offer.

'I-I can't. I have to stay here.

'Look, kid,' Gunn began, then broke off. 'Can't keep calling you kid. What's your name?'

The little voice was quiet. 'Wesley.'

A sharp intake of breath from Gunn.

'You're named after your Uncle, then?'

The boy looked up, his eyes wide again.

Angel stepped back into the hallway, and stopped in front of a small console table. He retrieved a photograph from a small collection gathered there. It was one of himself, Wes and Cordy, and he held it out to the child.

'Is that your Uncle?'

Wesley shook his head. 'No, sir. I don't recognize any of those people. Except you.'

Angel smiled at the open truthfulness of the little boy. He gazed at the other pictures on the table, and his eye fell on one of Wes as a young man, with his mother and father, taken at his university graduation. He became aware of the child next to him, the little gasp of air.

'That's my father. But he looks different. Older.'

He knew he wasn't talking about Wesley. The bright blue eyes were fixed upon the stern visage of Wes's father.

And then he realized. 

'You're him.' He couldn't hide the incredulity in his voice. 'Gunn, it's Wes. Our Wes.'

The other man screwed up his face and shrugged his shoulders. 'Huh?'

'He's Wesley.'

'Yeah, right. 'Cause last time I checked, Wes was three foot tall and ready for grade school.'

'I don't know how, or why, but I'm telling you, it's our Wesley. Maybe he was researching a spell or something.'

There was a slight movement, as the child beside him shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

'Um – I made a wish.' The tremor in his voice betrayed his fear. 

He tried to keep his own voice light. 'What did you wish for?'

The child's lower lip was already beginning to tremble, and he wiped his hand roughly across his eyes.

'It's okay, Wes. No one's cross with you.'

'I shouldn't have been so stupid… I always make a mess of things…'

He heard an adult's scorn in the child's words.

'Wes, really, it's all right. What did you wish?'

'He s-said it would come true, everything would be fine.' Wesley looked up at him, eyes liquid. 'I didn't mean for this to happen. I j-just wished for a happy family Christmas.'

*~*~*~*

'So he made a wish, and some kind of demon fairy godfather sent us the mini-watcher?' Gunn raised his eyebrows expressively. 'I don't know, it sounds kind of far-fetched…'

'Oh, but killing vampires and travelling to alternate dimensions is totally normal,' he hissed back, hoping that the little boy seated on the couch hadn't heard them.

Too late.

'You know about watchers?' His voice was tentative. 'I'm not supposed to talk about it…'

Angel moved over to couch, sat down next him.

'It's all right. We know all about the council.' He hated the look in Wesley's eyes just then. The fear that flashed suddenly and then was gone.

'You know about the other things, then…' he tailed off, and looked down at the floor.

'Vampires, demons and slayers, you mean?' 

 Wesley nodded, his head still bowed.

'That's scary stuff for a kid to cope with.' Gunn offered in a kindly voice.

The boy's head came up; he looked a picture of shame. 

'I try not to get scared…'

'Hell, Wes, everyone gets scared. Good thing, too. You got to have a good healthy fear of those monsters.'

There was surprise in Wes's face as he looked up at Gunn's impressive frame.

'Do you get scared?"

'Every time, kid. I'd be a fool if I didn't.' He flashed him a wide grin. 'Course, our Wes would say I was a fool anyway.'

'Your Wes? I don't understand – do you work for the Council?'

He looked at Gunn over the child's dark head, read the same question in his eyes.

'Not exactly. But we do work for the Powers that Be.'

Off Wesley's puzzled look, he explained.

'We work for the good guys. Fight the demons, stake the vamps…' He caught Gunn's eye again and shook his head. Better not get into that one just yet…

'Our friend, she gets visions of people in danger. We help them.'

He accepted this as if it were the most normal thing in the world. A child born into a world where the lines of good and evil were very clearly defined, where the concepts of duty and honour would have been instilled from an early age.

Gunn had been prowling restlessly in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets.

'You hungry, Wes?'

He nodded shyly.

'There's nothing good here.' He waved a hand at the contents of the cabinet, which were all nauseatingly healthy. 'Wes really needs to get himself some decent junk food.'

'Why don't we head back to the hotel and we can get something there?' Angel suggested.

Wesley looked down at the striped pyjamas covering his tiny frame.

'Hmm. Maybe pick up something to wear on the way, Gunn?' 

The other man nodded. 'Some of my cousin's kids will be his size. You're six, right?'

'I'm seven.'  He spoke so quietly that they almost didn't hear him.

'Well, we'll find something. Cordy can take him shopping later.'

Angel threw him a look.

'You're going to let her take him shopping? That's just plain mean.'

The boy looked puzzled. 'Who's Cordy?'

'Vision girl. She tells us who to help,' he answered.

'So she's in charge.' 

Angel caught Gunn's eye, a half-smile hovering on his lips.

'Not exactly. She likes to think she is.'

'She's the girl on the phone. The one who's cross with me.' Wesley pointed to the answering machine, the message received button flashing impatiently.

Angel pressed it, and instantly they were treated to the sound of Cordelia Chase in full rant mode, finishing with - 'Wesley, where the hell are you? You don't get your ass in here this minute; I'm coming round to kick it!'

Anyone who knew Cordelia would know that this was simply her way of expressing her concern. But this Wesley didn't know her, and he looked quite terrified. Close to tears, in fact.

'But I don't know where I am. I was at home last night, and when I woke up this morning I was here. I made that stupid wish and now I don't know where here is or who you are…'

His lower lip quivered ominously and he tried to choke back the sobs rising in his throat.

Angel fought an overwhelming urge to hug the forlorn child.

'You heard us talking about our Wes.' The boy nodded. 'Well, that's you. When our Wes didn't come into the office today, we came to his apartment to check on him.'

'And found you,' Gunn added, barely able to suppress a huge grin.

'It's obviously got something to do with the wish you made. We can research it back at the hotel.'

'He, I mean, I work for you?'

'Kind of the other way round.' Gunn gave up trying to hide the smile. 'You're the boss of Angel Investigations. That's Angel, I'm Charles Gunn, and that,' he said, pointing a finger at the answering machine, 'Was Cordelia Chase.' 

He lifted the photo of Cordy, Wes and Angel, and handed it to Wesley. The seven year old studied it intensely.

'That's me?' he said in wonder and Angel nodded.

'I look so… old.'

He set the photograph carefully back on to the table and turned to them.

'I'm in America, yes?'

'Los Angeles.'

'The city of angels,' he whispered, almost under his breath. Angel sensed that he wanted to ask more, but was too timid to question them further. 

'Let's head back to the hotel.' 

He grabbed his duster and Wesley stood up obediently, moved to stand next to him. Gunn came over and dropped his hand lightly onto Wesley's shoulder. The little boy's arm jerked involuntarily, as if warding off a blow. And immediately there came an apology. 

'S-sorry… I didn't mean to…'

Gunn lifted his hand carefully. 

'No, Wes. That's okay. I'm sorry.'

Again Angel caught Gunn's eye and read the frown there. They were both realising that there was more than one question that needed answering here. He shook his own head slightly.   
'I'll meet you back at the hotel, okay?'   
Questions and answers would just have to wait a little longer.

*~*~*~*

Cordelia was cleaning.

Not an activity in which she frequently indulged, she admitted to herself, rather grudgingly. But sitting around doing nothing in the office only gave her more time to think, to worry herself frantic about what had become of Wesley. 

He was never late, he always called. He was the reliable one. The sensible one.  The one she really shouldn't have to worry about. When they found him, she was going to damn well kill him.

She lifted a pile of boxes from under the counter and swiped a duster over the area fairly frenetically. A sudden movement behind startled her, and she brought her head up sharply, smacking it smartly on the counter top. That dumb vampire.

'Scare me half to death, why don't you!' She felt the top of her head for a bump, and fixed him with an accusatory glare.

'Would it kill you to remember that some of us actually need our hearts to beat?' She demonstrated this by clutching her hand over her own, a gesture she had been practicing for her actors workshop.

'Well, did you find him?'

Angel nodded, and then peeled off his duster, folded it infuriatingly carefully and set it on the counter. 

'Sorry to interrupt your highly engrossing clothes folding, but is there any chance you're going to tell me where Wes is?'

'He's out getting new clothes with Gunn.'

He's been attacked by slime demons, abducted for sacrifice to one of the more minor deities, even held to ransom by Wolfram and Hart, was what she'd been expecting. But shopping?

'Say that again. I'm here going quietly out of my mind with worry, and he's on a shopping spree. With Gunn!' 

She wasn't sure what pissed her more. The fact that Wes was clothes shopping, or the fact that he'd gone with Gunn, rather than her.

'He is so going to get his sorry ass kicked.'

A strangely beatific smile was playing on the vampire's lips.

'No, I don't think you'll be doing that.'

Her hands found her hips and she faced him squarely as he leaned against the office door.

'I think you underestimate me.'

'Fatal mistake.'

She turned at the sound of Gunn's voice; he was depositing boxes of takeaway on the counter.

'Where is he? Oh, right, he knows he's in trouble.' She took a breath, then yelled as loudly as she could. 'Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, get your ass in here now. I mean it!'

There was a pause, and then a small boy stepped out from behind Gunn. She registered a shock of short dark hair, and huge, impossibly blue eyes that stared back at her in obvious terror. He was scared stiff. Of her. She scooted out from behind the counter and dropped onto one knee in front of the petrified child.

'Oh, sweetie, it's okay,' she soothed. 'I'm not cross with you,'

'Actually you are.' Angel came forward. 'Cordy, this is Wesley.'

She turned her head to the vampire, gave him an exaggerated eye roll.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. 'It's him. Look at him, Cordy.'

So she did. The child looked about five, maybe six years old, his small frame emphasized by the too big navy sweatshirt and jeans he was wearing. The hem of the sweatshirt hung almost to his knees, and the cuffs of the jeans had been rolled up at least four times to stop him from tripping over them. She took in a pale face turning pink under her intense scrutiny. And then those eyes. She'd seen Wes without his glasses, and recognized those eyes now. Somehow even bigger and bluer than she remembered. 

'Oh my God. It's him. It's really Wesley, isn't it?' 

Angel and Gunn both nodded. She looked again at the small boy who stood before her. God, but he was a beautiful child.

'He doesn't remember us.' Angel warned softly, as she leaned forward to touch his face.

'He's so cute!' she squealed softly, but caught the warning in his voice and refrained from gathering the boy in her arms and hugging him tight.

'What happened?'

Angel pulled a couple of books out of the shelf and dropped them on the counter.

'Wes made a wish.' 

She frowned at him. 'Uh-uh. Wes has way more sense than to do that.'

The vampire made a face back at her. 'Not our Wes.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'Mini Wes.'

'Oh. Oh, okay.' She smiled at the despondent child. 'So, this wish. Who granted it? Good dress sense, kind of turned scary and veiny when she granted it?'

Wesley shook his head. 'He said he was an elf. That I was on his list.'

She felt a sudden shock of recognition; the first time she had met Wesley back in the library in Sunnydale High, his accent had been as strong as it was now.

Gunn opened a carton of noodles.

'Hungry, Wes?' 

The boy nodded, and Gunn leaned down, and lifted him up to the counter, plonking him carefully beside the cartons of food.

'And I thought the adult version was skin and bones. You eat as much as you want, kid.' 

He handed Wes a fork and dug in himself. Cordy watched as mini-Wes began to eat hesitantly, as if he expected the food to be removed from him at any minute. She lifted a pair of chopsticks and joined them.

'So what's the plan?'

Angel shrugged lightly. 'Enrol him in Kindergarten?'

She slapped him with a chopstick.

'Big funny man. Don't be mean,' she added, seeing Wesley's face redden.

'We'll figure it out.' Angel indicated to the pile of books on the counter. 'There's bound to be something about elves and wishes in one of these.'

'I could help.' His voice was soft, tentative.

'Aw, honey, that's sweet. But this stuff's a bit above your level.' She smiled at him.

'I could translate. Latin and Greek. Some Norse and Old English…'

Gunn threw her a look. 'Bit above your level, Cordy.'

Another chopstick attack, this time a stab, aimed at Gunn's shoulder. She saw Wes shift himself on the counter, out of the line of fire.

'Sure you can help, Wes.' Angel flicked his hand at the food. 'After you finish eating,' he added, as Wesley made to open the largest book.

'Yes, sir.' The quiet apologetic tone made Cordelia want to gather him in her arms and cuddle him.

'You like ice cream, sweetie?'

Wes looked up at her, his face suddenly bright.

'Yes.' Then he faltered. 'But I haven't finished my dinner.'

She scowled at Angel. "Don't listen to him.'

She opened the freezer compartment of the refrigerator that she had installed behind the counter, and scooped out two bowls of New York Super Fudge Chunk. She placed one in front of Wes, offering him a spoon.

'A kid should have ice cream.' She said simply, when Angel raised an eyebrow.

'Did I say anything?'

'No, but you looked.'

She noticed how Wesley did not eat, but watched Angel, waiting for permission.

'It's okay, Wes, you can eat it,' she encouraged. 

Angel nodded his assent. 'Go ahead, Wes.'

At last he obeyed, working carefully at the ice cream, savouring each spoonful as if it was his last.

'First thing we do is get him some decent clothes,' she stated. 'He looks like he was dressed by goodwill' 

'Hey!' Gunn half-protested, but he obviously knew she was right.

'I'll need the credit card, Angel.'

She opened her palm and flashed her sweetest most perfect-teeth smile at the vampire. He sighed in acquiescence; she knew that bitter experience had taught him the futility of arguing with her about money.

'Gunn, go with her. Protect the boy.'

Her ice cream spoon hit him squarely on the back of the head.

'Cordelia! What sort of example is that to set?' 

But she saw the half-smile, and knew he wasn't really mad.

'Yippee! Gap Kids, Gymboree, Tommy Kids…'

She hadn't realized she was saying this out loud. The three males were staring at her in surprise, Wesley in something approaching terror.

'Take it easy, Cordy. You're scaring him,' Angel said softly.

Wes set his spoon down carefully and cleared his throat. 

'Um, could I please have some new glasses? If I'm going to be reading, I'll need glasses. The other Wesley's will be too big.'

She briefly imagined him in Harry Potter spectacles and gave a squeal of delight.

'Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.'

The vampire sighed deeply and handed over the credit card.

'Please remember he's not going to be a kid forever.'

She snatched the card from his grasp, not really listening to him.

'Fine, whatever.'

There was shopping to be done.


	3. Shining Magic

TITLE:  The Very Best Time of the Year

AUTHOR:  Eloise 

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.

NOTES: Chap 3 of 5. Thanks to all who reviewed – I'd write this anyway, because mini Wes needs a happy Christmas, but your feedback makes it even more fun! You'll have noticed that Fred is conspicuous by her absence – she has gone to spend Christmas with her parents, as mentioned in Chap 1. I don't think I write her character very well, and this story is supposed to be fluffy, not shippy, so in Texas she will stay. Sorry all Wes/Fred shippers out there! The fic is now going to be five chapters long, rather than four. I wanted to fit so much in, and there just wasn't room!

Once again, hugs and Christmas candies to Lonely Brit for her beta – the best line of this chapter belongs to her!

Chapter title, quote and lyrics from John Rutter's carol 'The Very Best Time of the Year'

Chapter 3: Shining Magic

'That very best time,

That strange enchanted time,

That shining magic time of year.'

Gunn watched the small boy, as he stood in front of the rows of glasses frames, his eyes as huge as saucers.

'There are so many.'

Cordelia smiled and he marvelled again at how quickly she had fallen into the maternal role. Maybe it was a genetic thing. She seemed completely at ease with Wesley, who in turn responded to her with a genuine trust and openness. She guided him over to another section of frames, her hand pressed lightly in the small of his back. He allowed himself to be led. Did not flinch when she touched him.

That moment would stay with him, the undisguised fear on the child's face, the shudder that had run through his body when Gunn had laid his hand on his shoulder. He prided himself on being good with kids. He had practically raised Alonna by himself, and some of his crew had been barely in their teens when they had found themselves on the street. And Wes was his friend. Yet at that moment he had been absolutely terrified of him.

He consoled himself with the fact that Wes seemed even more terrified of Angel, then decided that wasn't exactly comforting.  A now familiar squeal of delight broke his reverie, and Cordelia waved him over.

'How cute is he, in those?'

Since arriving at the mall, this had been a recurring motif in Cordelia's conversation, usually preceded by a piercing shriek which was so high pitched that only dogs could hear her. Every item of clothing the child had patiently tried on was greeted with 'Variation on Oh My God He's So Adorable in G major'.

Still he had to admit, mini Wes was one cute kid. His sky blue eyes were only emphasized by the penny shaped lenses of the glasses Cordelia had chosen.

'Harry Potter, eat your heart out.' Cordelia was beaming. 'Those are just perfect, Wes.'

The little boy looked up at him, a serious expression on his face, searching for his affirmation or… permission. He smiled down at Wesley

'They look good, Wes. Cool.'

A little smile touched the corners of Wesley's mouth, not a wide kid grin, but then, the adult version didn't do an awful lot of that either. English was a little too much on the serious side for Gunn's liking. Always seemed to have his head stuck in a book when he should be out partying. He had chilled quite a bit in the couple of years they had known each other, Wes was definitely less stiff and formal, but there was a core of himself he kept private; hidden, even from Angel and Cordy. He had an idea that this scared little boy held answers to questions that none of them dared ask.

'Okay, that's settled.' Cordy bustled off to harangue some poor unfortunate shop assistant and have the correct prescription lenses fitted, while Wes stood by the small mountain range of bags they seemed to have gathered. 

He was no longer dressed in his cousin's cast-offs, but in some of the many new clothes that Cordelia had picked out for him. Surprisingly, Wes had been quite assertive in this area, resisting all Cordy's attempts to get him into cartoon character t-shirts. Instead he was dressed in a pale blue button down oxford shirt and tan chinos, dark chocolate suede lace-ups. Very Wesley-like. Back in Macey's, though, Gunn had noticed him eyeing the Star Wars merchandise surreptitiously, with a rather wistful look in his eye. He had slipped back to the store when Cordy had dragged Wes to the shoe department, and had bought a couple of t-shirts and a pair of pyjamas. A Lego Millennium Falcon for good measure. The kid's got to have some fun, he reasoned. He can't be translating stuff all the time.

His lace had come undone, and he bent over to tie it, the ridge of his spine clearly visible under the soft fabric of his shirt. He was so thin. And really small for his age. It was hard to reconcile the lanky Englishman he knew with such a small child. He wondered idly when Wes's growth spurt had kicked in.

Wesley sighed and plonked down in a sitting position. The lace was proving tricky. He narrowed his eyes and chewed the edge of his lip as he directed his attention to the errant lace. Gunn dropped down to his level and took the lace from him.

'I can do it,' he protested softly.

'I know. But you haven't got your glasses yet.'

The smile was broader this time, grateful for his help. He worked on one shoe, while Wes took care of the other. Finishing first, Gunn leaned over to help the boy.

'What happened to your hand?'

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and Wes jerked his hands away from his shoe as if he had been burned. 

'Nothing. I fell yesterday and b-bumped it.'

A less convincing explanation of an injury he had never heard. The back of the child's right hand was marked by three thin red stripes, stretching across his knuckles. The marks were much too regular and even to be the result of an accidental bump. He was about to question Wes further on their origin; then looked up at the little boy's face. Saw there such a look of raw shame and pain that it almost took his breath away.

And he was transported a few weeks into the past, just after Fred had left with her parents. The four of them had settled in the office to wallow in missing not only Fred, but also her folks. Wes had relaxed back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, feet resting on the edge of his desk.

_'They loved her. Supported her. Didn't grind her down into a tiny self-conscious nub with their constant berating. An endless tirade of debasement and scorn…'_

He had broken off, suddenly realizing what he was saying, and awkwardly dropped one hand down to cover the other. At the time Gunn had thought it was simply a way of ending the rather uncomfortable lull in their conversation. In retrospect, the gesture now seemed to hold much more significance.

Mini Wes was clearly unwilling to discuss the injury; he had folded his hands behind his back, and was looking down at the ground, obviously hoping it would swallow him up. Gunn bit down the white hot anger that had flared as he had observed the damaged knuckles. There was no way he wanted to make Wes feel like this.

'It's okay now, though. Your hand, I mean?' He thought his voice sounded a little unsteady.

The little boy nodded, looked at him with such undisguised gratitude that it made his throat ache with unshed tears.

The main impulse he was feeling now was to spoil Wesley rotten. 

Cordelia returned with the glasses.

'What?' She was looking from one to the other, seeing Wes's eyes bright with unshed tears; his own not much different. In fact, it was a race to see which of them might break first. 'What is it?'

He shook his head at her, and miraculously she understood his unspoken warning.

'I'm thinking that chocolate is in order, am I right?'

It was wonderful how she could seem so wrapped up in her own little personal bubble, but when it really mattered, Cordy was incredibly perceptive. He gave her a grateful smile, and gathered up their bags. 

Cordelia beckoned to Wesley and he followed her dutifully, his hands still behind his back. As they left the opticians, she casually held her hand at her side, palm facing outwards. After a moment's pause, Wes slipped his own hand into hers, and Gunn realized that he had won the race.

*~*~*~*

The chocolate milkshake was huge; she could only just see those baby blue eyes, now framed by spectacles, above the top of the soda glass.  Had to fight the impulse to reach over and run her hand through the soft spikes of dark hair at the crown of his head. Although his hair was really short, it still managed to look tousled, as if he had just woken up. She could sympathize. On her, bed hair was the worst hair day imaginable; on him it was just adorable.

She controlled the urge to say this out loud, and contented herself with watching the little boy attempt to drink his milkshake quietly. She stole a glance at Gunn, whose eyes were suspiciously bright. She really wanted to know what had gone on between the two of them back at the opticians, but had caught Gunn's warning, and left it alone. 

There was a slurping noise from behind the milkshake glass, and she couldn't suppress her laughter.

'Um, sorry…' Wes sounded unsure of himself.

In response, she blew into her own vanilla shake, creating a mountain of bubbles that threatened to spill over the top of her glass. Wesley's eyes widened; he had clearly been expecting a reprimand for his lapse in manners, not a demonstration of solidarity. She blew a little harder, and some of the froth flew across the table, splattering across Gunn's shirt. 

And was rewarded with a giggle. Almost inaudible, and desperately stifled, but the sound of it made her heart swell. She repeated the action, and this time Gunn returned fire, sucking up a strawful of cappuccino foam and aiming it at her. Direct hit to her new jacket.

'Right, that's it. This is war.'

She loaded her own straw again, and was about to open fire, when she looked over at Wes. He was in fits of silent laughter, a mouthful of chocolate milk unfortunately held hostage as he shook helplessly. She looked at Gunn, who cracked a wide grin, his eyes dancing. He was enjoying this as much as she was.

And then the little boy lost control, and chocolate milk sprayed from his mouth, as he collapsed into fits of giggles. Every few moments he would try to compose himself, then start again, hiccupping wildly, his face growing redder and redder.  Finally Gunn leaned over and patted him gently on the back.

'Okay, kiddo, you got to breathe sometime.' 

He nodded wordlessly, and took a gulp of air. She lifted one of the few clean napkins off the table, and moved beside Wes. Took his chin in her hand and carefully wiped away his chocolate moustache. Couldn't contain the words this time.

'Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you are the sweetest thing.'

The redness in his cheeks now had nothing to do with lack of oxygen.

He removed his new glasses, which were flecked with chocolate milk, and opened the purple Hogwarts case to find the lens cloth. Polished his glasses carefully, a gesture which reminded her intensely of the adult he would become.

'Who's Harry Potter?' he asked, as he examined the crest on the case.

'Oh, we so have to get it for him!' she squealed to Gunn, knowing how much the little watcher would enjoy that particular book.

Gunn eased back in his chair, raised his shoulders in a loose shrug. 

'He already knows about demons and vamps; I guess it would be a fun bedtime story.'

The thought of reading to a pyjama-clad mini Wes, snuggled beside her on the sofa, filled her with such joy that she almost forgot how to breathe. 

Then she glanced at her watch.

'Okay, guys, we've only got a couple of hours before the mall closes. And we've still got to go to the toy store, and the book store, and Tommy Kids…'

She really didn't care about the look that they exchanged, the way Gunn rolled his eyes and the shy half-smiling nod that little Wes returned. In fact, she actually kind of liked it.

*~*~*~*

In retrospect, perhaps they shouldn't have fed him quite so much candy. As they approached his truck, Wes was running off a sugar high, weaving between the two of them, chattering about the toy they had just bought him.

'And if you press the button in his back it activates the crossbow mechanism. It's brilliant!'

'So you said.' Gunn smiled fondly at the eager child. He had seen this happen with his cousin's kids. First the sugar hit, they would get the rush and go into hyperactivity overdrive. And just as predictably came the fall, when the nervous energy became too much to handle, they would sulk, or throw a tantrum, or sometimes just burst into tears. He wondered which Wesley would do.

Cordelia steered him towards the truck, and Gunn tossed the bags behind the seats. Wes climbed into the front seat between them and buckled up.

'Gosh, Mr. Gunn, I'm never allowed in the front seat at home.'

'It's Gunn, Wes. No mister. And I couldn't exactly let you ride in the back, now could I?'

'Do I have a car?'

He was thrown for a moment by this non sequitor. Then he realized he was asking about the adult version.

'A bike.'

'Oh.' His face fell. For a second Gunn almost imagined that he saw the merest hint of a pout on the child's lips. 

'A motorbike.'

'Oh. A real one?'

The sudden image of adult sized Wes riding a kid's toy motorbike came unbidden to his mind, and he swallowed down a laugh.

'Yes, a real one.'

'I'm not…' he paused, uncertainly. 

'Not what, hon?' Cordy had finished fixing her lips in the rear view mirror, and had turned to face the little boy.

'I'm not a Hell's Angel, am I?' The little voice sounded almost hopeful.

He failed to suppress the laughter this time. 

'No, Wesley, you are most definitely not a Hell's Angel.' Cordelia reassured him, poking Gunn in the ribs as punishment for his sniggering.

'I didn't think I was.' He seemed a little disappointed.

Gunn shifted himself in the driver's seat till he was facing the boy. 

'You're the man, Wes. A guy you can rely on in a tight spot, a guy who always comes through. Watches your back, and looks out for you. Plus you're one hell of a shot.' 

Thoughts of his friend in the hospital, drugged to the eyeballs with morphine, floated into his head, and he held out his fist, forgetting that this Wes didn't know. He contented himself with a gentle pat on the boy's shoulder.

'You're the man, English,' he whispered again, very softly, and started the engine.

*~*~*~*

He knelt down by the socket and switched on the light, then stood back and surveyed his handiwork. He had found the decorations in a labelled box beside Cordelia's desk. No one could deny the woman had interesting priorities. Their client addresses were filed according to whimsy and were generally inaccessible to all but Cordelia. However, written on the side of the decorations box were detailed descriptions of the contents therein. These included the exact number and preferred location of each bauble on the tree. 

He had to admit, the tree did look kind of pretty. He didn't really go in for the whole 'Tis the season' thing, but Cordy insisted they have a tree. She had brought the decorations with her from Sunnydale, one of the few boxes she had been able to save from the IRS raids on her home. And this year in particular, it seemed appropriate that they should put up the tree. Wes had wished for a happy family Christmas, and they were going to make sure that his wish came true.

A familiar voice floated across the lobby of the hotel.

'Christmas trees and boughs of holly,

Yuletide logs and mistletoe,

Candles burning bright, and…'

The carolling broke off abruptly.

'Well, a merry little Christmas to you, Gabriel!'

He turned to see Lorne staggering under a pile of gaudily wrapped packages. The demon was dressed in a dark red velvet evening suit, and looked for all the world like he was on his way to host a Bing Christmas special.

'Thought I'd be your not-so-secret Santa.'

He deposited the gifts onto the office counter and leaned against it, obviously impressed by the tree.

'Hmm. Seems you have a flair for this.' He waved his hand at the decorations.

'Cordy left instructions.' Angel gestured to the box on the desk beside Lorne.

'Oh. That would explain the presence of actual colour. And where is the rest of the happy little band of elves?'

'Out buying clothes for Wesley.' He thought maybe he could have some fun with this.

'Since when does Wesley need help buying clothes?'

'Wes has - um - lost some weight recently. Cordy thought she'd be able to help him pick out some new stuff.' Angel wasn't sure he would be able to keep his face straight much longer.

Lorne looked stricken.

'Angel, he's not ill, is he? I mean, the man wasn't exactly bulky to start with.'

'He's not ill,' he reassured the worried demon.

At that moment, the front door burst open, and the person in question led the way into the lobby, followed by a heavily laden Gunn and a suspiciously empty-handed Cordelia.

'And we really went to a parallel dimension? Was it a spell, or a wormhole, or…'

Wes stopped in mid sentence at the sight of a green demon, wearing a suit the colour of his horns. Took a small step back towards Cordy. She settled a comforting arm around the little boy's shoulders and Angel heard her whisper gently to him.

'You weren't kidding when you said he'd lost some weight,' Lorne commented wryly.

Angel stared at him, open-mouthed.

'How did you know?' he asked incredulously.

'Aura, darling. Just screams Wesley. Plus those eyes. Windows of the soul and so forth. So what happened this time? Did somebody do a regression spell?'

Angel shook his head. 

'Wes made a wish – mini Wes, I mean,' he added quickly. 'And there was an elf, right, Wes?'

The child nodded shyly, remaining close to Cordelia.

'One of Santa's little helpers?' Lorne smiled at his own joke.

But Angel did not respond. He was watching Wesley. The little boy had a look on his face that he recognised from the adult version. Intense concentration, followed by a broad grin. The Eureka face.

'I know about this! There's a manuscript that talks about the power of the wish, and how it is used.' His face fell. 'But I didn't manage to read it. I was in my father's library and he caught me with it. I'm not supposed to touch Father's manuscripts.' 

He folded his hands in front of him, and Gunn moved close to him, placed his hand on the little boy's shoulder protectively.

'That's okay, Wes. We'll figure it out,' he said softly.

Cordy was eyeing the Christmas tree with some degree of approval.

'Not bad,' she granted grudgingly, then scooted in behind the counter and placed a small cardboard box on the counter. 

'Just one last bauble.' She opened the box and unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal a perfect sphere of silver glass, possessing an almost translucent quality. It was so highly reflective that it seemed to glow in her fingers.

'My mom called this the magic bauble.' She blushed a little. 'I'm pretty sure it's not, but every year she'd let me put it on the tree, and she'd tell me to make a wish.' 

Here she smiled at Wesley. 

'She said it was shining magic.' 

She held out the bauble to Wes. 'I think the honour this year should be yours.' 

He took the decoration from her, carried it carefully to the tree. Angel moved behind him, ready to help him reach up to the higher branches.

There was a tiny gasp, and the beautiful jewel slipped from his fingers, met its end on the tiled floor, fracturing into a thousand fragments. Wesley swung round quickly, backing away from him, almost knocking the tree over in the process. 

'You – you're a vampire!' he breathed.

Then took off across the lobby and fled through the hotel door.


	4. Sharing all the Joy

TITLE:  The Very Best Time of the Year

AUTHOR:  Eloise 

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.

NOTES: Chap 4 of 5. Glad that you're all enjoying the story; I had a horrendous tummy bug during the week, and when I finally logged on, your lovely reviews really cheered me up! Big blushing thanks to Lunatique/a terrible love who recced my stuff over at DoW, and sent me such detailed reviews of Present Imperfect and Soul Cages. You actually made me go and re-read my own stories! Hope you're enjoying this one! I am aiming to finish the fic before Christmas, hopefully by the 23rd. After the serious fluffiness of Chap3, I feel the urge to warn you that there may be angst ahoy. 

Chapter 4: Sharing all the joy

'Families and friends together

Feel a special kind of love and cheer,

Sharing all the joys of Christmas time,

The very best time of year.' 

He was an idiot.

How could he have believed that making the wish would bring him anything but trouble? It wasn't as if he hadn't been warned about the use of magic; it was one of Father's favourite lectures. He could almost hear his father's voice now, contemptuously listing his failures.

Too trusting, too weak, too soft…

As if to attest to that criticism, he felt tears gather behind his eyes and he blinked furiously, trying to stem their flow. He was blinded momentarily, and stumbled, tripping on a paving stone laid slightly askew. A searing pain in his forehead sent stars exploding behind his eyes, as his head came into sharp contact with the edge of the gatepost at the front of the hotel. 

Adrenaline surged through his body, and he hauled himself to his feet, running as if in a nightmare, his legs heavy as lead. He reached a fingertip to the throbbing in his temple and was dismayed to find the skin there slick with blood. 

Great. Not only did he have a vampire gang chasing him, he now had an open wound as an appetiser, thus greatly improving their chances of catching him. The odds of which were fairly high to begin with. There was no way he could outrun them, he realized. His only choice was to try and hide. He glanced around the courtyard and noticed a small garden area surrounding a fountain. There appeared to be another entrance to the building from this atrium, and he crept up the steps, pressing his ear as close to the doors as possible.

'You didn't tell him?' This sounded like the weirdly dressed demon he had just met.

'Yeah, well, it didn't come up.' He recognized Cordelia's voice, and felt tears well up again. 'I mean, what are you gonna say? Hey, tiny and half-scared-to-death Wes, here's a funny thing, you trained as a watcher and wound up working with a vampire.'

He so wanted to believe her. Wanted her to hold his hand and call him sweet and adorable and be soft and nice and gentle. But the sound of footsteps at the front of the hotel gave lie to her words. 

'How far d'you think he got?' This was Gunn.

'Not far. See here? He fell – look at the drops of blood there. Looks like he doubled back on us.'

Terror gripped him and he pushed open the double doors and sprinted across the lobby, past a startled Cordelia, and under the counter, almost knocking over the demon. He looked around wildly for a safe place, then dived through a door into an inner office. He slammed it shut, breathing heavily. There was a key in the lock, and he twisted it savagely, then shoved it into his pocket. Looked around for some type of weapon, something to defend himself with. If they were going to eat him, he wasn't going to be an easy meal.

'Wesley! Come on Wes, open up!' 

She wasn't yelling, but she sounded upset, which made him feel awful until he remembered that she was working for a vampire. 

He scanned the contents of the shelves and was shocked to see his own toy soldiers set out carefully, in the very same formation he favoured on his bedroom shelves. They had not been lying. He truly did work here. But with a vampire?

He was supposed to be a watcher. From before he could even remember, his father had instilled in him the basic tenets of good and evil. There was the council, the slayer; they represented the powers of light. Demons, vampires, they were the darkness. There was no blurring, no grey area. How had the adult version of himself ended up working with this undead creature?

Unless - and the very thought sent tendrils of pure cold dread creeping round his heart – unless he was also a vampire. That thing had bitten him and made him drink, creating a soulless monster within his adult body. Father would have been absolutely furious with him.

The door rattled again, and he was shocked out of this disturbing reverie. 

'Wes, please open up. We don't want to hurt you. If you'd just let me explain…'

It was the vampire speaking, his voice soft, full of plaintive worry. Lying to him, lulling him into a false sense of security. He tried to remember the words of the protection spell his father had set him to translate yesterday evening, but his mind was suddenly empty, just as it had been when Father had tested him on it. 

He heard Cordelia's voice indistinctly, something about 'another one here somewhere', and then, to his horror, he heard a key turn in the lock. The unbolted door gave way easily. He seized the only weapon he could find on the desk, and retreated to the farthest wall of the office.

The vampire entered first, closely followed by Cordelia and Gunn. The green demon remained at the office door, obviously guarding the exit for his accomplices.

'Get back, creature of the night!'

He had been aiming for bravely bold, but was disappointed to hear his voice sound timidly terrified. He raised the pencil in his fist, reading to shove it into the vampire's chest. Made a few dummy stabs, in what he rather futilely hoped was a threatening manner.

His total lack of menace was evidenced by Cordelia's soft sigh and look of tender concern. 

'Oh, sweetie, you're hurt. Let me look.'

 She took a tentative step towards him and he backed away against the book case.

'Wes, honey. Angel's a good guy. Really.'

He was suddenly extraordinarily angry.

'Of course you'd say that. You work for him. What did he promise you? Eternal life? Everlasting beauty?' He took a swift, sobbing breath. 'How could you do that to me? I trusted you, believed you, and you betrayed me.'

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened as if she'd been slapped.

'You were just feeding me up for him, you…' he searched furiously for the word he wanted. 'You minions!'

He was dismayed by the little half giggle that she desperately tried to stifle. In fact, they all looked anything but scared. The tall vampire looked sheepish, Cordelia had that 'I want to hug him' look again, and the demon lounging in the doorway seemed quite amused by the thought of himself as a minion. Gunn, however, though clearly not intimidated by him, was not laughing. He was watching him intently, his dark eyes unreadable. 

'Don't you dare come a step closer!'  He waved the pencil ominously at them. 'I'm not afraid to use this!' 

Cordeila was the first to break. 'Oh my God, he's like, mini watcher! Have you ever seen anything more adorable?'

'I am not adorable!' he yelled as loudly as he could, stamping his foot to emphasis this lack of cuteness. He felt his lower lip beginning to wobble. 'And I am not a vampire!'

The cut on his forehead gave an extra painful throb, and the tears that had been threatening all evening began to spill over. He was suddenly enveloped in a bear hug, and he fought against the broad chest, his fists hammering against solid muscle. He swung the pencil ineffectually, and it fell from his grasp, inflicting no damage. As he twisted in the man's grasp, desperate to keep his neck protected, it dawned on him that the chest he was pummelling rose and fell; he could hear the man's heartbeat, deep and steady. Not the vampire.

He pulled away from the man, and strong hands released him immediately. He removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his shirt. Bit down hard on his lip to stop the tremble there.

He was such a baby. He was supposed to be a watcher, and here he was, crying his eyes out in front of the enemy. Father was right. He'd never last a day in the field. He looked down at the cuff of his shirt, noticing the smear of red that now tinged the pale blue cotton. The adults in the room remained very still. He wasn't sure why the vampire hadn't attacked him yet, it wasn't as if he hadn't had opportunity. But he stood motionless by the chair, as if stricken by guilt.

Gunn knelt on the floor next to him, a hand not quite touching his back.

'You're not a vampire, Wes.' His voice was incredibly gentle, and the kindness in his tone made tears well up all over again.

'Then why do I work with him?'  He hated the petulant whine of his own voice.

'Because you're one of the good guys, Wes. And you see the good in other people, no matter how well hidden.' 

For a moment, Wesley imagined that there was a sharp little edge to Gunn's voice, accompanied by a brief glance over at Angel, who, if possible, looked even more forlorn.

'He's got a soul, kid. Cursed by gypsies for being one seriously nasty specimen of the living undead. We told you the truth. We work for the Powers that Be. Help the helpless, dust the demons.'

Cordelia nodded vigorously. 

'I get the mind splitting visions to guide us.' She looked upwards quickly. 'That wasn't an invitation, by the way. I am planning a foresight-free Christmas.'

He was still having trouble with the idea of remorseful vampire, who worked on the side of good. It just didn't fit with anything he had been taught about the world. He wasn't sure what shocked him more, the existence of this souled vampire, or the thought that his father might be wrong.

Yet here he was, trapped in an enclosed space with a blood-sucking demon, who was making no effort whatsoever to feed from him. He crept over to the desk, hardly daring to touch the polished wood surface.

'What do I do?' he whispered.

'You mean, apart from boss us around?' Gunn smiled good-naturedly at him. 'This is your office. All the books, research, translation – that's your speciality. And, as I said before, you're handy with a crossbow.'

Wesley looked down at the back of his hands, the thin lines across his knuckles contradicting Gunn's words. He felt a warm blush spread across his cheeks. Nobody; nobody had ever given him such praise. He was suddenly aware of Gunn behind him, and he turned to see the tall man staring at a walking stick that rested between the edge of the bookcase and the wall.

'And you're my – our friend.' 

He knelt down again, and Wesley was surprised by the liquid in the dark eyes. Gunn reached up and touched a finger to the gash above his eyebrow. 

'That's a mean little cut, man. Better get it cleaned up.' There was a definite tremor in his voice.

Wesley allowed himself to be led into the lobby.

Boys do not cry. Men do not cry. A lesson that his father never tired of teaching him. For the second time that evening, he was confronted with the heretical thought that his father was wrong. As he settled himself on the settee, waiting for Cordelia to bring the First Aid kit, he could have sworn he saw Gunn wipe away a tear.

*~*~*~*

He lounged against the counter, trying to glance covertly through the office door without alerting the child to his presence. Wesley was seated at the desk, surrounded by several ancient, dusty volumes. Well, not so much seated as perched. He knelt on a cushion that Cordy had borrowed from the sofa, and was leaning over a large manuscript, the light from the desk lamp glinting off the rim of his glasses.

The image was powerfully familiar, reminding him of the adult Wes so much that had his heart been capable, it would have skipped a beat. Intent on his studies, Wesley chewed the edge of his lip unconsciously as he read; and every few minutes he would write some careful notes in a pad beside him on the desk.

He was dressed in pale blue pyjamas, decorated somewhat incongruously with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Chewbacca motifs. The little boy's eyes had sparkled when Gunn had produced the garments from a Maceys' bag, after Cordy had spent some time seeing to the cut above his eye.

Angel was feeling incredibly guilty about the whole episode; Wes would never have fallen if he hadn't been trying to get away from him. And clearly it had hurt. Wesley had tried to sit very still as she dabbed at the gash with antiseptic, but had not been able to stop himself from flinching as the cotton gauze touched his skin. 

Cordelia had been at her most gentle, the side of her that they didn't get to see very often. She had drawn the edges of the cut together and fixed a couple of paper butterfly stitches to hold the skin in place, and Wesley had blinked, sending a single teardrop splashing directly onto his hand. Cordy had rubbed her thumb gently under his eye, and had taken him upstairs to get him changed for bed. Lorne had headed back to the club, promising to make a few enquiries about recent elf sightings, though considering the season, he didn't hold out too much hope.

They had all agreed that Wesley would stay in the hotel, although Wesley himself wasn't too keen on the idea, until both Gunn and Cordy said that they would sleep over too. It hurt him to realize that the child version of his best friend seemed completely terrified of him, but given the circumstances of Wesley's upbringing, it was only natural that he should be wary of vampires, even ones who professed to have a soul.

He looked to be in his element now, searching for information on wish magic and elves. Gunn sat in an armchair near the desk, his long legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was flicking through a smaller book, supposedly helping with the research. With a pang of selfish sorrow, Angel had acknowledged that mini Wes was much more at ease with Gunn, and it made sense that he should be the one to keep the kid company.

'I think I found something!' The little boy's voice was ecstatic, and Angel cautiously approached the office door, and leaned in.

'This passage here, it talks about the power of the wish, and those who wield it. See?' He held the book out to Gunn, who took it dutifully and scanned the page. 

'Sorry, Wes. It's all Greek to me.' 

There was an explosive giggle, and Wesley collapsed face first onto the manuscripts, doubling over as he giggled.

'What? What did I say?' Gunn was smiling at the sight of Wesley wrapping his arms around his midriff, shaking silently with laughter.

'It's – It's not Greek!' he gasped, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 'You see, it's – it's Latin!' and he was off again, another fit of giggles overtaking him.

Angel couldn't help but smile. Only Wes, only Wesley Wyndam-Pryce would be so tickled by such a joke.

'What's so funny?' Cordy swept past him and into the office, carrying a steaming mug of something that was clearly not blood. 

Wesley took a big gasp of air. 'Gunn – he said, he said, it's all Greek…' and he started all over again.

'Hmm. I think maybe it's time we called it a night, boys. Looks like somebody's ready for bed.'

'Oh, Cordy, not yet. Can't you let Gunn stay up a little longer?' This time Wes actually howled with laughter, and banged his little fist on the desk. Gunn was not much better, and Angel felt a little chuckle build in his chest.

'Very funny, kiddo.' 

Cordy was trying to sound stern, but failing miserably, as the child's insouciant laughter infected her as well. She set the mug down in front of Wesley and began to clear away the books. 

'Hot milk. To calm you down before bedtime. Drink up.'

The little boy obeyed her, sipped from the mug and smiled. 'Thank you, Cordy.'

'It's my pleasure, Wesley,' she replied, returning the smile.

He finished the milk, and climbed down from the chair, knocking his upper arm against the edge of the desk. He made a small sound, a tiny hiss of pain, audible only to vampire hearing.

'You okay, Wes?' he asked quietly. 

The child looked suddenly as small and afraid as when they had first discovered him in the closet. 

'I'm fine. Really.'

Immediately Cordy was all mother tigress. 

'Wes, did you bump your arm when you fell before?'

He shook his head dumbly. 

''You're hurt, man.' Gunn's voice was full of worry.

Angel guessed that this Wesley would not be a good liar, even as the child shook his head, his eyes were downcast, fixed on a single spot on the floor. He took a step towards the boy, saw him cringe a little as he approached. 

'If you're hurt, we need to take a look, Wes,' he reasoned. 'Cordy won't hurt you; just let her look at your arm.'

The head remained down. 'I'm not hurt. Please, can't I just go to bed?' 

Angel hated himself for what he was about to do. He hardened his features; put a little mean in his voice.

'You do as you're told, Wesley.' His tone was harsh, strict, and Cordelia threw him a look of utter disgust, her eyebrow raised.

But the stringency of his tone achieved the desired results. The little boy unbuttoned his pyjama top, and obediently slipped his arm out of the sleeve. Around the thin muscle of his upper arm, there was a pattern of five fingertip-shaped bruises tattooed on the pale skin. They looked perhaps a day or two old, and had clearly happened previous to mini Wes's arrival in present day L.A. The child stood very still, his head bowed, his cheeks suddenly very red.

Gunn curled his hand into a tight fist, and Angel thought for a moment that he might be the recipient of the other man's rage. Then the fist relaxed, deliberately, and Gunn gently pulled the pyjama top back over the child's shoulder. Lifted Wesley easily and settled the small boy on his hip. Wesley pressed his face into Gunn's chest.

'Time for bed, kid,' he murmured, shooting Angel a warning look. He understood then that there would be no further discussion of the bruises in front of Wesley. 

As Gunn carried Wes out of the office towards the stairs, Angel put out a hand to stop them. The child raised his head from Gunn's shoulder.

'I'm sorry, Wes,' he said quietly and sincerely.

The little boy nodded, old beyond his years. 

'That's okay, Angel.'  No trace of fear in his voice now, just gentle acceptance. 

It made Angel want to weep.

*~*~*~*

He peered through the blinds into the inner office, watched the vampire brush his hand awkwardly over the dark head, cradled against the other man's chest. It brought a tear to the eye, even to one as cynical as himself. He was rather pleased with the results of the wish, although it had been touch and go for a while there. But it had worked. The kid was getting a happy family Christmas.

'Norman!' A hissed whisper from the entrance door of the hotel interrupted his warm fuzzy thoughts. 

He tiptoed over and opened the lobby doors to see Arthur, head of the North American division, pulling off his coat.

'What the hell are you doing in L.A.? Everyone's been going berserk! I mean, they've pulled people out of Production to form search parties for you. And we're now two days off schedule.' 

The other elf was shaking his head in bemused wonder.

'I was just – um – checking on somebody, I mean something…'

'Don't play the innocent, Norman, we know what you've been up to. You're to get back to H.Q. - ASAP.' He paused and gave him a sardonic look.

'Oh, and Norman? Let's just say the boss isn't feeling particularly jolly.'


	5. A Strange Enchanted Time

TITLE:  The Very Best Time of the Year

AUTHOR:  Eloise 

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.

NOTES: Chap 5 of 5. You see, I promised to finish before Christmas and I did (only just!) This has been so much fun to write and I really appreciate the feedback you've all given me. I have to admit, I'll miss mini Wes, but I'm a good girl, and I always put my toys back when I've finished playing with them. Usually in the right place… 

Hugs to Lonely Brit for her fantastic beta work, and a merry Christmas to all you mini (and full size) Wes fans out there! 

 Chapter 5: A Strange Enchanted Time

'That very best time,

That strange enchanted time,

That shining magic time of year.'

'What the hell were you thinking?!' 

Norman eyed his boss warily.  The tall and comfortably plump white bearded man was pacing back and forth across his office, his cheeks ruddy with anger rather than the more customary jollity.

'Good Grief, Norman, you used Wish Magic! Do you have any idea of the problems you've caused?' He lifted a large manila file and thrust it under Norman's nose. 'This is a memo from the Powers that Be, listing the damage which has already occurred to the time line.'

The folder appeared to be rather thick. The boss threw the file onto the desk theatrically and gestured to the phone on the desk.

'And I've already had a call from upstairs warning that our wish license will be revoked, unless we sort this mess out pretty damn quick!'

The large man slumped into his chair, and covered his face with his hands, shaking his head in disbelief.

'Honestly, Norman, what possessed you? I could understand if it were Dave, big-hearted softie that he is, but you? At this year's AGM, you were the one who suggested we leave turnips in the Naughty list stockings.'

He waited for the tirade to peter out, then chewed his lip nervously.

'Felt sorry for the kid, Nick. He was having a really crappy Christmas.'

The other rolled his eyes heavenward. 

'Did you even bother to find out who he was when you granted the wish? What part he would have in future events?' He slapped his palms down on the manila file, hard, making Norman jump. 'That's what files and records are for, Norman. To check out the Powers' plans, make sure we don't do anything to upset the equilibrium.'

He leaned down and pulled open a deep drawer in his desk. Removed another document, this time bound in gilt-edged leather.

'Congratulations, Norman. You have single-handedly managed to meddle with two major prophecies in as many days. And you picked the very best time of the year to play fairy Godfather.' His voice positively dripped sarcasm. 'I mean, the night before the night before Christmas – were you intentionally trying to piss me off?'

Norman was beginning to wonder if he would ever stop. Okay, he would admit that he hadn't thought about the full implications of his actions, but it wasn't as if he'd done it on purpose. The boss was flicking through the prophecy file absently, as a light on the desk intercom flashed.

'I've got D'Hoffryn for you on line one, sir.' 

The boss rolled his eyes heavenwards, pressed a button on the phone.

'Put him on hold, Glenda. I just can't listen to him gloating.' He groaned softly, rested his head in his hands, rubbing his temples lightly. 'You know what D'Hoffryn would do in this situation, don't you?'

'Skin me alive, I shouldn't wonder,' Norman answered, reasonably confident that Nick was too much of a nice guy to do that.

Nick looked hard at him, and he felt himself turning a deep crimson. 

'I think for an elf in your situation, a flippant attitude is rather ill-advised.' His tone was colder then the arctic wind outside, and his usually kindly eyes were icy blue.

'Sorry, Boss.'

'He'd make you mortal.'

Norman just stared at him. He'd heard the rumours of course, about the vengeance demon who had been condemned to live as a human for failing in her duties. Norman could imagine no worse punishment then to lose his immortality, be forced to live among petty humans.

'Nick, come on… think about this…' He was mortified to realize that he was almost begging.

The older man sighed softly. 

'It's okay, Norman. I'm not in the vengeance business. Besides, I've far too much to do before tomorrow – thanks to your little wishcapade.' He rose from the desk and gathered the files and papers, shuffled them and looked pointedly at Norman. 'You did remember your list, I hope?'

Norman reached into his pocket and pulled out his battered notebook, handed it sheepishly to his boss. He pulled on his thin-rimmed half moon spectacles and surveyed the list.

'Hmm. Well, everything seems to be in order, although you do have a rather sizeable Naughty list… '

Norman shrugged diffidently, as the man slipped on a dark red velvet jacket, trimmed with pristine white ermine. He moved out from behind the desk and made his way to the office door.

'I want this mess sorted out, Norman.' Again his voice was tinged with steel. 'I want the boy returned home, and the time line restored.'

'Yes, Boss' 

'And the boy is to have no memories of this whole episode. Am I making myself clear?' 

'Crystal, sir.' 

He exited the office, shaking his head in disbelief. 'You better pray the fairies don't get wind of this, Norman.

He stood quietly in the centre of the room.  It could have been worse, he supposed, although short of carrying out his threat to make him human, he wasn't sure how. He was about to leave the room, when he realized that the boss had left one of the files behind. It was the leather bound prophecy he had produced earlier.

He lifted it, intending to follow the boss and return the document He wasn't sure why he glanced down at the open book, and scanned the page briefly. 

What he read there made him catch his breath. 

'Oh, bugger.'

He dropped the book as if it were red hot and hurried out of the room.

*~*~*~*

He placed a hand under the boy's arm, supporting the weight of the crossbow a little, as the tension in the muscle became an almost imperceptible tremble.

'That's it. Hold it steady.'

He could hear the hurried rhythm of his heart, felt it beat in the muscle bed, and realized that the quickening of his pulse had as much to do with nerves as physical strain.

'It's okay, Wes. You can do this,' he reassured him.

The little boy swallowed audibly. 'I'm not sure…' he whispered, his voice soft, hesitant. 

'Trust me, Wes; you're good at this. There's a reason no one in the local ex-pat pubs will play darts against you. You are an incredible shot.'

Again the child's heart rate accelerated, his face flushed pink at the unexpected compliment, a shy smile hovering near his lips. He loved to see that little half-embarrassed smile, the self-conscious joy at a word of praise, not quite hidden behind the quiet self-deprecation. 

It was clear now where that came from. Angel was all too aware of the power of a negative paternal influence. For him, his father's oft expressed dissatisfaction with his behaviour had simply made him more determined to disobey, to disappoint. He understood that he could never be what his father wanted, so he had given up trying. Whereas Wesley had never stopped. Always trying to live up to impossible expectations, and meeting with scornful criticism when he failed. And if you get told that you're not good enough, often enough, you start to believe it.

He shifted his weight onto one knee, and continued to steady the crossbow.

'Now, take your aim, nice and easy…' He waited patiently as Wesley levelled the weapon, focused on the target. 'Now take a breath, let it out completely, then fire.'

The child obeyed, exhaled fully, and released the bolt. It flew across the lobby, embedding itself in the centre of the target Angel had set up. As it struck home, Lorne appeared through the double doors that lead down to the kitchen.

'Guess I should be glad you're such a good shot, my little demon hunter.'

Immediately Wesley was contrite.

'Gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.'

Angel looked over at the demon, sighing peevishly.

'Lorne. You knew we were practising.'

The green demon winked conspiratorially at Wes. 'I knew I was safe as long as it was Wes behind the bow.'

The little rosy-cheeked smile that Wesley sent Lorne made Angel bite his tongue; prevented him from challenging the demon's poorly hidden criticism of his crossbow skills.

'So was there a reason for your little brush with impalement, or did you just come up here to insult me?'

'As tempting as that option now seems, that was not my original intention.' He winked at Wesley, who tried very hard not to smile. 'Had to get away from Hell's kitchen. She's down there doing unspeakable things to a defenceless turkey.'

As he spoke, the doors swung open, and Gunn ran through, clutching several bags of mini marshmallows. He dived into the inner office and began twisting the dial on the combination safe. A moment later, Cordelia appeared through the doors, wearing a pink PVC apron, rather inappropriately decorated with cherubs and harps. She, however, was looking far from angelic. Her face was pink with fury, unintentionally matching her apron; although the light dusting of flour which reached past her hairline concealed the full intensity of her anger. She was wielding a small but incredibly sharp vegetable peeler, which she waved ominously in Gunn's general direction.

'Give them back!' she hissed.

Gunn stayed behind the counter, showed her his empty hands. 'No marshmallows in the sweet potatoes, Cordy. It's against the laws of nature. Or at least taste.'

'It's traditional!' she screeched, making Wesley jump a little.

Angel laid his hand on the little boy's shoulder, very lightly, and was relieved when he did not flinch, just moved a bit closer to him. Immediately all Cordelia's anger evaporated. 

'Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to yell. I just want this to be a perfect Christmas.' Here she threw a daggered look at Gunn. 'One that you'll always remember.'

A look of unadulterated adoration shone out of the child's eyes.

'It already is,' he whispered, sending her that shy little half-smile.

Angel drew him closer, gave the thin shoulder below his hand a gentle squeeze.

'There's just one thing missing.' There was a mischievous quality to his voice now.

'What's that, sweetie?' Cordy was all concern. Angel truly believed that if Wes asked for the moon on a stick, Cordy would book a seat on the next shuttle flight to get it for him. Hell, they all would. Mini Wes had them wrapped around his little finger.

The child gestured to the Christmas tree. 'We don't have an angel for the top of the tree.' 

'He's right, you know.' Lorne lounged against the counter, eyeing the child with curiosity.

Wesley slipped out from under his arm and scooted over to the couch; retrieved something from under the cushions. Gunn grinned broadly, and came out from behind the counter, lifting Wes into his arms, keeping whatever it was hidden between them. He carried him over to the tree, and Wes reached up and placed the object in the uppermost branches.

It was the toy that Gunn and Cordy had bought for him, an action figure dressed all in black, holding a crossbow. Angel glanced down at his own attire, eerily similar to that of the toy; the small crossbow that Wes had just fired still in his hand.

Wesley was grinning widely, his eyes positively gleaming with wickedness.

'There,' he announced triumphantly. 'An angel for the top of the tree.'

*~*~*~*

Angel leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, viewing the scene before him with satisfaction. Cordelia was settled on the small couch; Wesley curled in her lap, glasses slightly askew. He was fast asleep. Gunn and Lorne were both sprawled in chairs, pleasantly stuffed from the surprisingly edible Christmas dinner Cordy had prepared. 

Angel laid the book to one side, and Lorne protested softly.

'Hey, I was enjoying that!'

Angel raised his eyebrows and tossed the demon the book. Lorne caught it and pouted a little. 'It's not fair. No one ever read me a bedtime story…'

'Yeah, your mother didn't strike me as the type to read fairytales. Star in them, yes, but…'

Lorne smiled ruefully. 'Actually now you come to mention it, I think she might have inspired the one about the goats and the troll.'

Cordy shushed him gently. 'Don't wake Wes!' 

She shifted the sleeping child on her lap, and Gunn made a move to stand. Angel was on his feet first, gathering Wesley in his arms and lifting him easily. He was surprisingly light, even after the mountain of food Cordelia had piled on his plate. 

'I'll carry him up; you sort out the presents, okay?' He nodded to the stocking they had placed under the Christmas tree. 

Cordelia nodded, then stood up and removed Wesley's glasses carefully, brushed her hand across his cheek very lightly. Angel carried him out of the office, and was almost at the staircase when the lobby door opened.

'I'll be with you in a moment,' he said softly to the rather small, strangely dressed man who had just entered the hotel. 'Got to get the kid to bed before Santa comes.' He winked conspiratorially at the man, who for some reason looked quite upset.

'It's funny you should mention him…'

*~*~*~*

'So you see, he's got to go back. And all memories of this,' Norman paused and gestured around him, 'will have to be erased.' 

Cordelia gave a tiny half-sob. 'Couldn't you just let him remember a little? He was so happy...'

The elf shook his head sadly. 'I'm sorry. I wish I could, but it's not possible. The timeline would be distorted if he knew what his destiny was.'

Angel watched the elf closely as he spoke. He did seem genuinely sorry, and from what he had told them, it wasn't his choice to send mini Wes back home. Gunn was pacing back and forth across the office, his arms folded over his chest, clearly trying to control his anger.

'You cannot send Wes back to that house. Do you know what that man did to him?'

If possible, the elf looked even more shamefaced. 

'Why do you think I granted him the wish in the first place?' he said softly. 'Look, we all agree that the situation is, well, far from perfect, but we know that it turns out okay. He turns out okay.' He paused, clearly uncertain of their reaction to his next suggestion. 'Perhaps your friend is the man he is because of his childhood. You know, out of life's school of war…'

'What does not destroy me, makes me stronger,' Angel finished, and gave the elf a sardonic look. 'Not sure I want to test Nietzsche's theories on a seven year old.'

Norman sighed. 'I know. But we have no choice. I have to send him home, and it has to be tonight.'

'What about us?' Lorne spoke for the first time. 'Do we get to remember what happened?' 

'Um, I don't know. The boss didn't say anything about erasing your memories.'

'Then we can tell him what happened!' Cordy was almost happy again.

'No.' 

Angel and Norman said it simultaneously, then looked at each other.

'The strain on the memory wipe would have serious repercussions for future and past events.'

'It wouldn't be fair to Wes. If he knew that we know about his childhood. It's not as if he's shared it with us intentionally.' 

Cordy opened her mouth to protest, then sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. Gunn nodded in resignation, his lips pressed together. He moved to stand in front of the elf, looming over him deliberately. 

'Okay, but he gets to keep the presents, understand?' 

Norman rubbed his hands over his face, massaging his temples. Angel thought he heard him whisper 'Bloody mortals', but so quietly that he might have imagined it.

'One present, that's all I can manage. Do you people know the trouble this could cause?' It sounded as if he was quoting someone else's words, as if he didn't really agree with it himself. 

Angel walked to the tree, no doubt in his mind which present they would give Wes. He reached up to the highest branch and removed the black-clad action figure from its pride of place there. The others nodded solemnly, and he handed the toy to Norman. 

The elf slipped the toy into the pocket of his coat, and pulled out a bright green holly leaf. He sprinkled a handful of glittering dust over the tiny sprig, and it shimmered as if frosted by a winter's morning. He closed his eyes briefly, whispered a few words that Angel did not recognize, then clenched his palm tight over the holly. The brittle bright leaf crumbled easily, and he opened his hand, blew gently onto the contents. The crystalline powder floated as if suspended in the air, then was swept towards the doors, swirling as if carried by a soft breeze. And suddenly was gone.

Norman heaved a sigh, and began to button up his overcoat. 'It's done. Your friend will be back to normal now.' As he fastened the final button, the air around him became hazy, and he began to fade out of sight.

'Listen, for what it's worth, I am sorry. I wish things could have been different.'

And the irony of his words was not lost on them.

*~*~*~*

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce stretched out on his sofa, and took a sip of the Lagavulin he had poured for himself after he had finally persuaded the others that he was fine, thank you, feeling much better and all he needed was a bit of a lie down and some peace and quiet.

Which he was not going to get while Cordy rather uncharacteristically fussed around him, continually demanding if he wanted tea, coffee, or, quite bizarrely, chocolate milk.

And Angel and Gunn were almost as bad. They had gone into raptures over the fairly ordinary Christmas presents he had given them; to the extent of hugging him so hard that he was having trouble breathing. 

And they had been doing that a lot. Hugging him. Not that he really minded, of course, but his ribs were beginning to ache a little. They had explained it to him, how he had fallen under a spell after opening an enchanted Christmas present, and Angel and Gunn had discovered him unconscious on the floor of his flat three days ago. They had brought him to the Hyperion, while they searched for an antidote for the spell, which Lorne had come up with. Exact details of the spell and its antidote were rather sketchy at best, but then again, research methodology had never been his friends' strong suit. He was just glad they had managed to wake him up.

He let a mouthful of the smoky liquid slide down his throat, creating a pleasant burning sensation in his chest. There was something familiar about the taste, a wonderfully hazy awareness of having done this before, a vague feeling of déjà vu. 

He set the glass down abruptly and stood up, was drawn to the hall cupboard, for no reason that he could fathom. He clicked on the light, and felt on the top shelf, until his hand came into contact with the box he didn't know he was looking for. He lifted the long white shoe box down from the shelf, took off the lid carefully. The contents of the box made him catch his breath.

Nestled within the dark tissue paper were a number of childhood treasures.  A small set of beautifully painted tin soldiers, a dog-eared copy of 'Biggles' which he had managed to keep hidden from his father, and one of his favourite toys, a Commando Action Man, dressed all in black, complete with a tiny perfect crossbow. He wasn't exactly sure when he had been given it, and then suddenly he remembered.

A Christmas many years ago, he had been perhaps seven or eight. He had been locked under the stairs for some childish error in his translation of a protection spell. His father had been very angry with him, had left him there all night to teach him a lesson. The longest night of the year, in more than one sense. 

The next morning, when the door finally opened onto the semi darkness of a winter's dawn, he had been shocked to find his father almost contrite. It had been a mistake; he had been working on a difficult translation, lost track of the time, and had forgotten to let Wesley out. His voice gruff with unaccustomed kindness, he did not apologize, asked Wesley why he had not called out, for goodness sake? Wesley had known enough to keep silent, to enjoy this unfamiliar concern from his parent. And on Christmas morning a few days later, he had received the Action Man toy in his stocking, took it as an unspoken apology from his father.

He rubbed his thumb over the trigger on the back, and the tiny bolt flew from the bow, landing in the bottom of the shoebox. Wesley reached in and pulled out a white envelope in which the bolt was embedded.

It was pristine white vellum, with his full name written in black copperplate script on the front. Now this, he had no memory of receiving. He turned the envelope over, slid his thumbnail under the flap, breaking the seal deftly. He pulled out a card which featured a picture of a rather grumpy looking elf, opened it, and read the message inside.

To Wesley James Wyndam-Pryce,

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

A word of advice:

Never trust a talking hamburger.

Best Wishes,

Norman

*~*~*~*

He pulled the coat around him tightly, peering into the apartment. The tall Englishman stood up and carried the card over to the desk by window, rubbing his hand over his chin rather thoughtfully. Norman watched him intently. If they found out about this at HQ, all hell would break loose. He looked into those soft blue eyes and smiled to himself.

What the hell, he'd heard there was some good skiing in Siberia at this time of the year.

FIN


End file.
